Seven Sins
by AbsentAngel
Summary: Hell is at their doorstep, always there and always knocking, but Heaven is in each other's arms.
1. Sloth

_"If there is a sin against life, it consists perhaps not so much in despairing of life as in hoping for another life and in eluding the implacable grandeur of this life"  
>-Albert Camus<em>

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><p><strong>(:)(A)(:)<br>Seven Sins  
>Chapter #1: Sloth<br>(:)(A)(:)**

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><p>Soul was lazy. Always was and, Maka predicted, always would be.<p>

His free time at home was spent either zoning out in front of the television or laying half hazardly on his (unmade) bed with his headphones cranked up unhealthily high. Sometimes, usually when Black Star was over, he would at least get some stimulation from whatever video game was currently 'cool'. Even then, he would complain of sore thumbs hours later.

Point was, Soul was lazy because he just simply _loved _to be lazy. A perfect day for him consisted of doing nothing - sleeping was preferred. And Maka just couldn't wrap her head around it. A moment doing nothing was a moment wasted. A moment to study and expand her knowledge or catch up on a favorite book. A whole day . . . well, given a day a person could save the world.

Or, in today's case, save her home from Soul's negligence.

A smelly film was beginning line the sink and the remains of the dinners he cooked that week decorated the stove top and surrounding counter space. Meanwhile, the dust bunnies Soul was suppose to vacuum up two week ago had evolved into something rabid and was beginning to crawl up her curtains. It was, all in all, disgusting. Disgusting and, more importantly, not her mess.

She gave his door a loud knock but let herself in when she didn't receive a response. No doubt he was listening to his music. When the door swung open, sure enough, she caught him reclining on his bed with his faithful headphones glued to his ears. With his eyes closed and his hands laced casually behind his head, he could have passed for sleeping if it weren't for his left foot tapping to a beat she couldn't hear.

Maka sighed, rolling her eyes. "Soul." She didn't receive a response so she called him again, this time emphasizing with a small jab to his ribs with her broom handle. "_Soul_!"

His eyes blinked open in surprise and one hand reached up to remove the headphone from the ear closest to her. "Hey, what's up?" Maka would never understand how he could stay so cool all the time. If someone had snuck up like that on her she would have either found herself kissing the ceiling or punching the perpetrator.

She thrust the broom toward him, watching him stare at it like it was some kind of foreign object. For him, it probably was. "You're going to help me clean."

Pale eyebrows pinched but he didn't reach out to take the cleaning apparatus from her. "It's friday night, we had classes all day. Leave the cleaning for tomorrow."

A soft growl of frustration escaped her lips. "Why do tomorrow what you can do today? You aren't doing anything now so why don't we just get it over with?"

"Why do today what you can do tomorrow?" He challenged, a toothy grin threatening to overtake his face. "Besides, who says I'm not doing anything?" He stretched his arms over his head languidly, "I'm actually quite busy at the moment."

Maka snorted, arms crossing over her undersized chest. "Oh yeah? Doing what?"

His level stare settled on her face long enough for her cheeks to warm and her heart to flutter. She nearly choked when he scooted over to one side of his small bed. "Lay down with me and I'll show you." There was a challenge in his eyes, a knowing smirk on his lips, that told her he knew _exactly _how flustered the current situation made her.

Unfortunately, he also seemed to know that she would never back down from one of his challenges.

With flaming cheeks she laid in the empty space he made for her, desperately trying to keep their bodies from touching. The twin mattress didn't afford much room for her extra body however, and she found that it was impossible to keep her knobby elbow from grazing his ribs. Fidgeting, she smoothed her skirt modestly before lacing her tense fingers over her stomach and staring up at the ceiling. She willed herself not to look at him until the heat in her face dissipated. "Well?" She pretended not to notice how high pitched her voice had suddenly become.

Soul chuckled, and from the very edges of her vision she could see him shake his head. "Come on Maka, you're doing it all wrong. You gotta relax."

She had half a mind to point out that she didn't know what '_it_' was but thought better of it. Knowing him - which she did, intimately - he'd just tell her to do as he asked. Soul had always been one to show instead of tell, had been since that very first day they met and he pounded out the notes that made up the very essence of _Soul _on the ivory keys of the ball room's piano.

She remembered the cacophony of sounds and, looking back, finds it ironic that such energy came from someone as lazy as him. Had she known him first, she wonders if she would have believed that the music was his. Somehow she doesn't think she would have and for a moment the realization makes her disappointed. Then, she is marveled by how just that one change in their mutual timeline could have made everything between them so different - so much _less _than what they had now.

Her mouth parted and she turned her face towards his, wondering if he knew. The words faded on her tongue though when she found him staring down at her. At some point during her revelation he had turned on his side and propped himself on his elbow to watch her. His mouth was curved into an expression so tender compared to his usual toothy grins and crooked smirks that for a moment her heart forgot her.

He knew, he had always known. From the moment his long lithe fingers stroked the piano keys, he showed her who he was so she would never have to guess. So that even when his outer appearance seemed to say otherwise she would still know him. So she would always know him.

"Looks like you figured it out."

Startled, she blinked at him; feeling the warmth in her face returning as she realized she had been staring. "What?"

He chuckled, grin quickly growing into something more familiar as he shook his head. "You know, for someone who thinks so much you never really stop to _think_." He poked her in the forehead playfully. "You know, use that shriveled up part of your brain that isn't being crammed with DWMA crap and use it to be philosophical every now and then. Maybe even, dare I say it, day dream?" When all he received was an evaluating stare as a response his brow furrowed and his grin faded into a frown. "What?"

She knew Soul, he had laid himself open to her like a book. Sometimes it was in a language she couldn't understand and it took her a while to interpret, but it was always there. So how was it that he was still able to read her better than she could him, when she had given him nothing? She wanted to ask him, but the only thing that managed to escape her lips was an inquiry of when he learned what philosophical meant.

He rolled his eyes, but the half smirk curling his lips told her it was in good humor. "Don't know, maybe after all the yapping you do some if it actually took." She smacked his arm, too softly to hurt, before beginning to get up. His hand caught her wrist. "Hey, where you going?"

His frown puzzled her, and the tips of his fingers on the underside of her wrist made her feel strangely warm. "Um, clean?" She gestured to the broom with her free hand. "It's not going to move itself." It was a half truth at least, cleaning would give her the opportunity to dwell on her newly found thoughts.

He shook his head, "Nope, lessons aren't finished." He gently tugged on her limb until she conceded with a sigh and laid back down. When after a few long moments of silence and his fingers still clasped around her wrist, she raised her eyebrows. He smirked back at her. "Lesson the second." He yawned, showing off rows of amazingly sharp teeth. "Learn to enjoy the little things in life - like naps."

"Soul, it's eight o'clock."

A chuckle escaped his lips, though it was already drenched with sleep. "So? Extra long nap then; just means we might get some dreams as an added bonus." He raised a drowsy eyelid. "You _do _know how to dream don't you?"

It was another challenge, one that Soul knew she wouldn't turn down. She never did after all.

**(:)(A)(:)**

As you may have guessed, each chapter will be focusing on one of the seven deadly sins. My goal is to turn each sin around into something not quite so . . . well, sinful. If that makes any semblance of sense. Each chapter will be independent of the other but at the same time (hopefully) make a cohesive story. Updates will, most likely, be sporadic.

Thanks in advance for any and all reviews!


	2. Greed

.

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"_He who is not contented with what he has, would not be contented with what he would like to have."_

_-Socrates_

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><p><strong>(:)(A)(:) <strong>

**Seven Sins**

**Chapter #2: Greed **

**(:)(A)(:)**

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><p>Sometimes, Soul thinks, Maka is too greedy. Not in the '<em>I'm going to screw you over to get what I want<em>' kind of way, mind you. His meister was too good hearted to take what she wanted if it meant hurting someone else. No, Maka was greedy in that she always - note the always - wanted _more_.

She wanted to be the top of their class; shit, the school even. She strove for perfect scores on every assignment and berated herself if she missed so much as a single point. An 'A' in Maka's world wasn't good enough unless it was perfect. And a hundred percent didn't mean shit if she could get a hundred and two percent with extra credit. She had to be the best and the greatest, anything less was unacceptable.

Especially when it came to making him into a Deathsythe.

It wasn't good enough for them to accomplish their shared goal. No, she felt the need to exceed it. She wanted to be the youngest meister weapon team to ever create one. And, as if that weren't enough added pressure, wanted to master every attack before and better than anyone before them. Hell, she wanted to go down in the history books and _stay _there. Soul had no doubt that she would, with or without his help. It was just the kind of person she was.

An unwavering fire coursed through her veins. It cooked and simmered just under the surface of her pale skin; melded her determined gaze with sharp, stubborn steel and dressed her heart - her soul - in battle armor. It burned in her, driving her to be the smartest, the strongest, the _best_. It was insatiable, and nothing in the world could divert its path. Just as, Soul knew, it could never be extinguished. The fire would keep feeding, growing in intensity and volume until the rest of the world was consumed by it. When it did he'd be right there by her side, long fingers forcing notes from ivory keys for the flames to dance to.

It would - no - it _was going _to be beautiful. Everything she did was beautiful. Her fire lit but it did not burn; flames swayed and spread without scorching those who touched it. When they resonated Soul could feel it wrapping around him, grazing against his skin like the warm hand of a lover. She lit his world, kept him warm and kept him full, without leaving him in ashes.

Vaguely he remembers a poem. The words in his mind are hazy and almost altogether forgotten but the concept of it burned in his memory. It was short, something Soul remembers liking. Even so, with just a handful of lines on whether it was better for the world to freeze over of burn down, something about it stuck with him. One line in particular - the only one he could remember - "I hold with those who favor fire". Funny how reading seven measly, unrelated words made Maka's determined gaze flash through his mind's eye.

Yeah, Soul favored fire all right. He thinks he had ever since she held him as a weapon for the first time. It was before she started wearing gloves, and he remembers feeling the heat of her hands burning delicious trails across his cool metal form. Even then her movements were smooth and deliberate - practiced. The way she weilded him . . . Soul knew then and there that he wanted to stay close to that fire - that warmth. Now, over five years later, he wanted to drown in it.

He thinks, rather, he knows she'd let him. Because if there was one thing Maka was greediest with it was him. He wasn't stupid or blind, he saw the way her cheeks flushed and noticed how her blood warmed at even the slightest sign of intimacy between them. She tried to hide it, but with her his eyes were always sharper and somehow these little details never seemed to escape him. He was quick to catch the annoyed look that crossed her face whenever a girl approached him - the glares whenever they dared to try and take him from her. Later, he recognized that part of her irritation with Black Star stemmed from the way the self proclaimed god ate up a lot his time. She craved his attention, and he loved her all the more for it.

Maka wanted the power that came with wielding a Deathsythe, the prestige of being the smartest and youngest meister to do so. But this, with him, he knew was personal. She had the drive - the intensity - to turn any weapon into something great. She didn't need him specifically to reach her goals, never did. Which is why her wanting him made his heart swell and his pulse quicken. Because no one had ever wanted him like that; wanted him in ways that didn't include just strength or flesh. Maka wanted him for the person he was - maybe even loved him for the person he was. She knew his song; and even though the pace was quick and unforgiving, the notes chaotic and unsweetened, she danced to it.

Maka wanted _him_, no one else.

The knowledge, admittedly, inflated his ego to soaring heights but he couldn't bring himself to care. Someone cared for him, for the first time in his life, for the right reasons. He didn't think life could ever pull him down from that high. Not even Maka's heaviest book extinguish the steadily growing spark of contentment that was lighting up the dark corners of his soul.

He loved her. Loved her for her greed, her strength, her kindness, and everything else that was Maka. But as one of the younger students, a girl with dark eyes and darker smile, pulled him aside for a "private conversation" he realizes something. Maybe it was the weak smile she gave him, or the soft "I'll go home and start dinner", but Soul suddenly wishes with feverish intensity that Maka would be greedier.

He wishes that she would stop wanting and start taking.

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><p><strong>AN:<strong> Yay fire anologies! The poem mentioned and quoted was Robert Frost's "Fire and Ice". I'm sure most of you have read it at some point or another, if not go ahead and take a look see.

Thanks for all your kind reviews! You guys are awesome!


	3. Gluttony

_AU: I'm ridiculously irritated that I have to do author notes before the chapter just to save my layout. Stupid Twitter, Facebook, and other misc. bar thingie. Why couldn't you be on the bottom? Also, if you could publish the chapter the first time I submit it that'd be nice. K? Thanks._

_Anyway, this chapter ended up being harder to write than anticipated. So hopefully I'll still be satisfied with it come a week or so. If not, well, shit._

**(:)(A)(:)  
>Seven Sins<br>Chapter #3: Gluttony  
>(:)(A)(:)<strong>

Every night she cooked Soul asked for seconds, sometimes thirds. He was a glutton provided the food placed in front of him wasn't burnt to ashes (as was often the result when he placed himself in front of their stove).

The first time it happened, Maka remembers blushing as he held out his plate for more. It was silly - really silly - but every time she dropped an extra mountainous portion onto his plate she had this feminine sense of accomplishment. As if him liking what she made him made her worthy - of what, she doesn't dare evaluate. Because it wasn't as if she dreamed about white picket fences and having a husband to wait on hand and foot when he came home from his _grueling _day at work. She hates that domesticated lifestyle; truly just thinking about it made her nose wrinkle in distaste.

It . . . it's just that when she hears him sigh in satisfaction, that toothy grin of his spreading from ear to ear and his and his eyes close in gluttonous bliss, she feels . . . she doesn't know what she feels. Important? Proud? Flattered? She's not sure there's a word for it. The handful of feelings churn and mix until it blends into something she doesn't truly recognize anymore.

She's scared when she begins to look forward to the domestic exchange. Terrified when she realizes that one of the unnamed emotions swirling in her chest is a distinct sense of feminine pride. The Susie Homemaker kind, not the Rosie the Riveter's "we can do it" kind. She wants to laugh at herself because, really, how backwards was _that_? That she, a girl who has brought over two hundred kishin to their deaths and prided herself in her ability to keep up and outscore her fellow (mostly male) meisters, would slip into such a domestic, feminine role come supper?

It wasn't right. She shouldn't let herself fall prey to such silly, stereotypical notions. She is stronger than that, more _independent_ than that. From the moment in her young life that she realized how miserable her mother was with her Papa, she had vowed to never - _**never**_ _-_ let her happiness depend on a man. Because if someone as strong as Mama let herself fall into the role of passive wife and mother, how could there be any hope for _her_? When her mother finally left, Maka had seen her off with a bittersweet smile. Sad to be saying goodbye, but so proud to be her mother's daughter. Mama had always been a strong role model, but watching her take back her independence the way she did only made her seem stronger in Maka's eyes.

Since she was a little girl she had always wanted to follow in her mother's footsteps. She wanted to tip the scales against the darkness in the world, eliminate the shadows that smothered the light. She wanted to make a Deathsythe even better than her father - because she's convinced that Mama could have only done better with a more loyal partner. But, watching her mother walk away from her, Maka decided that there were some paths her mother took that she didn't want to walk. She would focus on her career as a meister and ignore her heart's more romantic whims. Because for all the fairy tales she's read and dreamed of as a child, Maka has never seen a "happily ever after" in real life.

It had been a good plan up until teenage hormones set in - and she did blame the hormones. Because if it wasn't for them she wouldn't feel that fluttering in her stomach when their knees touched on the couch, or feel that angry tightening in her chest when another women tried to take him away from her. She wouldn't fight a blush whenever he gave her a crooked smile and she wouldn't deceive herself into thinking that the ones he gave her were somehow special. She _sure as hell _wouldn't be tripping all over herself when Soul eagerly asked her to dump another helping on his plate.

So really, it was because of the hormones that Maka quickly found herself unconsciously making larger portions. And, as a result, found herself in front of Tsubaki and Black Star's apartment door begging for a measly cup of flour. It was because of the hormones that her brow furrowed in confusion when her dear friend mentioned that Soul hadn't been hungry when she had offered food to him only thirty minutes prior.

It was definitely the hormones that made her heart race and her face redden when Black Star, loud as ever, exclaimed from his reclined position on the couch that Soul always saved his appetite for her food because he liked to see her smile when he asked for more.

As Black Star snickers from the couch, the rational part of Maka thinks that her blue haired friend must only be teasing her. Even though Tsubaki cooked much better than her and Soul had been whining about how hungry he was as she ran out the door to get the last needed ingredient, there had to be another reasonable explanation. Because Soul just loved to stuff himself, it had nothing to do with her.

It was just the hormones that made her think, if just for a moment, that it might be something else.

**(:)(A)(:)**

_Au:Well, like I said. Not my favorite but I think it works. Tell me what you guys think!_


	4. Envy

**(:)(A)(:)  
>Seven Sins<br>Chapter#4: Envy  
>(:)(A)(:)<strong>

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><p>She absolutely hated it, and adamantly refused to admit it to anyone other than herself, but Maka forced herself to acknowledge that the cold thing twisting in her gut was jealousy. It took her a while to square her shoulders and face that particular fact - much longer than she could proudly admit - but at heart Maka was nothing if not practical. She could deny it as long as she liked but it wouldn't change the truth of the matter. One plus one would always equal two and fact would always be, well, <em>fact<em>.

Now, Maka was good at math. Actually, she was good in all her subjects as long as they didn't involve hoops or balls of any sort. But somehow she couldn't quite grasp the solution to her rather peculiar equation. Perhaps math really couldn't be used in real life situations . . . shouldn't two things added together give some kind of answer? Couldn't facts create a solution when combined? Wasn't that how logic was suppose to work? Joe is hungry + Joe only has cereal and milk = Joe eats a bowl of cereal and is no longer hungry. Simple equation.**  
><strong>  
>Fact #1: She was jealous.<p>

Fact #2: She absolutely despised Fact #1 for being fact and was determined to strike it down and stomp on its ashes before it managed to cause any permanent damage.

So. One plus one equals two. Maka is jealous plus Maka hates being jealous equals . . . What the _heck _did it equal? Maybe that particular equation was too simple for her very complex problem. Perhaps she should evaluate the particulars.

The Who: Essentially every female in the student body at Shibusen. Especially - and this is what horrifies her the most - her friends.

The What: Liz and Patti for their bright golden locks that made her own blond strands seem to dull in comparison. Tsubaki for her calm feminine grace that Maka could never even begin to touch. Approximately ninety-five percent of the female student body for having the kind of curves that made her own boyish, flat figure painfully obvious.

The Why: This is where things became a little fuzzy. Because when she really evaluates the situation she finds that it isn't so much that she wished she were prettier - not completely anyway. For someone like her, someone who could see souls with the ease that normal people saw colors, beauty really was only skin deep. She never felt the need to wear makeup or accessories her simple outfits because, well, what did it matter? Changing her appearance on the outside would never change her.

But then . . . maybe that was the problem. No matter what she did she would always be the flat chested bookworm with a temper and a mean right hook. The girl that could keep up and outmatch some of the guys in strength and stamina but still never seemed to get partner requests. Not that she would ever accept - it just confirmed what she had already known all along. Men were shallow. They would rather be partnered up with the Blair's of the world . . . not the Maka's.

She's not sure when that little fact of life started to make her want to hide instead of wanting to punch the perpetrators. Honestly, she's not sure it matters any way, because Fact #3 was that all she really wished for was to feel wanted. She might not spend her time gossiping about boys or fretting over her appearance . . . but she was still a girl at heart.

What girl didn't want to at least _feel _attractive?

The truth hurts, but it doesn't lie. Some nights she undresses in front of the full length mirror that got shoved into the abandoned corner of her room; the one she used to never use. By the time she gets down to her plain white underwear she would pause to study her pale reflection. Even after she pulls her fine hair out of her signature ponytails and allows the dull strands to fall limply past her shoulders, she sees nothing worthwhile. Nothing a man would find appealing. Angrily, she throws on an old pair of pajamas and falls into bed feeling foolish. She tries to ignore the taunting reflection the next morning even as she subconsciously accepts that she will find herself standing bare in front of it once more in a few days time.

She opened herself up and studied herself cover to cover like she would any textbook. Maka knew the facts and the equations, understood how the cold slithering thing in her gut was born. She found barbed truths that hooked onto her heart, stacking one on top the other until her pulse felt smothered and her heart felt drowned by the weight of it. She found all this, but no answers - no solutions - until she forces herself to accept the most troubling fact of all. Her jealousy stemmed from her unhappiness with herself and society's standards of beauty. Society would never change and neither would she. There was no solution to her equation.

Maka would always be Maka.

She hid her troubled thoughts well, locked them away deep inside her where they couldn't hurt anyone but herself. She wasn't perfect though, sometimes she would slip and something uncharacteristically bitter and jaded would pass her lips before she could forbid it not to. Most of the time people didn't notice all that much - she did have a reputation for her temper after all - but sometimes she caught Soul's confused, and often worried, expression before she forced herself to look away from him. But Liz . . . of all people Liz saw through her. She watched her with a knowing look in her eye and a concerned, yet determined, frown gradually deepening on her glossed lips.

The knowing glint in the girl's cool blue eyes terrified Maka like nothing else. Turns out she had good reason to be afraid. A week after Maka first noticed the weapon's change in expression the elder Thompson sister was dragging her into the mall without sympathy despite Maka's persistent protesting. It only got worse when the meister realized they weren't going to be shopping for outfits.

To her complete horror and embarrassment they only went to one store. When she adamantly refused to try anything on Liz rolled her eyes in irritation before shoving the younger blonde towards the register with the compromise that she could try it on in the privacy of her own room. Maka, still petrified as she handed the money over to the cashier, found herself grateful that Liz at least gave her that much mercy. She would have died going to the dressing room with _that _in hand. As it was, she tried to hide it as best as possible from the other shoppers and blushed scarlet when the cashier winked at her after handing over the receipt.

They left with a single, bright pink striped bag. Of which Maka self consciously crushed against her chest in a vain attempt to hide it from anyone who might be looking. She had been carefully formulating a plan on how to inconspicuously return the merchandise when Liz caught her determined, thoughtful stare. Before she could protest the weapon had reached in the bag and torn the tags off with a knowing (evil) smile that clearly said there would be no returns on the day's purchases.

"Trust me Maka - put these babies on and you'll feel like a whole new woman," Liz winked, laughing as Maka immediately melted into a red sputtering mess as she tried to escape the car. As her fingers fumbled with the door handle Liz placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, expression suddenly all seriousness. "Really though Maka - promise to at least try it on?" Maybe it was the way the tough, no nonsense weapon had asked or maybe it was the tender expression on her face, but Maka found herself agreeing before making a hasty exit and running to her apartment. She didn't stop until her bedroom door was shut firmly behind her and she slid down paneled wood until she found herself sitting on the welcoming carpet.

It took her three days to summon up the courage to finally take the lacy apparel out of the bag, and another thirty minutes of staring at it as it lay innocently on her comforter before she forced herself to strip down and try it on. She cursed Liz as she pulled her shirt over her head and cursed herself for promising the older girl as she stepped out of her pants. Really, that promise was the only thing that kept her from tossing the offending bag and it's contents out the window.

But a promise was a promise, and Maka would be no better than her Papa if she didn't keep them. With that unpleasant thought in mind she finished stripping before reaching for her unwanted purchase - her back to the mirror. Her hands trembled as they pulled the small, lacy piece of fabric up her legs before letting it rest delicately just under her hip bone, and her fingers fumbled awkwardly with the clasp of the matching bra. Swallowing down the lump that was clinging stubbornly to the back of her throat, Maka took a deep breath to try to calm her heart's fluttering. It didn't work, but she found herself turning to her mirror anyway.

Turns out Liz had been right all along - she really _was _kinda beautiful.

She blushed deeply as soon as the though surfaced, but couldn't bring herself to tear herself from her reflection. The fragile black lace contrasted so sharply that the bare skin beneath seemed to glow in the room's dim lighting. The matching bra lifted and supported the breasts she had once felt so ashamed of. They still weren't even close to what her best girl friends sported. Caressed by the dark fabric the curve in her breast was slight and subtle, but the curve was _there_. She had all the curves that a woman should; she had just needed something more feminine than her old white undergarments to see it. For the first time in months she went to bed feeling good about herself.

Despite her boost of confidence, she wasn't brave enough to wear it under her uniform. Death knows the moment she did her skirt would find some way to flip up and expose her to anyone looking. So she settled for slipping into it before bed on the days that she felt less than adequate - just to remind herself. Underneath her uniform was a woman, she knew that now. Someday someone else would see it too.

Of course, she hadn't expected that day to come as soon, or as unexpected, as it did.

Maka had made the assumption that the moment would be of a more . . . intimate nature. A romantic moment where she would let all her barriers down and be rewarded with sweet words of how beautiful she looked - that's how she had imagined it at least. Though perhaps she relied too heavily on romance novels in lieu of real life experiences, because when she looked at the way her life actually worked she recognizes that these things never run smoothly for her.

Soul found her underwear. Her _sexy _underwear.

Maka had been in the kitchen cubing potatoes for that night's corn chowder when he stormed around the corner and into her vision with her black lingerie fisted tightly in his right hand. The knife dropped from her hand, potatoes completely forgotten as she watched in growing horror as he rapidly approached her. She wasn't quite sure whether she should be relieved or even more horrified when walked passed her to the trash can. When his right foot hit the plastic pedal and the lid obediently flipped open, Maka settled on sticking with horrified.

She slammed the lid back down just as he was raising his hand to toss the garments in. The kitchen immediately became silent - even the bubbling of the chowder seemed to dissipate, and Maka felt the heat quickly rush to her cheeks as she stared at her hands on the trash can lid. She was officially mortified, but after a few deep breaths she managed to peek up at her partner from under her bangs. He blinked back at her, a completely lost expression on his face that relieved her of just enough embarrassment to confront him - even if she did stutter. "W-what are you doing?" Her voice was meeker than she would have liked it to be, but she congratulated herself for getting the whole question out.

With his free hand Soul scratched the back of his head, a perplexed frown pulling at his lips. "Damn, didn't think you of all people would care about Blair's laundry." When all he received was a blank look he sighed. "I told that stupid cat the next time I caught her sneaking her crap into our loads I was going to toss it." He must have mistook her rapidly reddening complexion for anger because he held up his hands defensively. "Look, it's not like I didn't warn her! I told her several times if she-"

Maka's eyes fell to the floor as she tried to swallow the mortified lump that was lodged in her throat. "Those aren't Blair's." The words came out in a jumbled high pitched squeak but she didn't stutter.

"Then who's . . ." Soul's voice trailed off, and when Maka gathered the courage to raise her eyes he was staring intently at the bundle of black lace in his hands - his grip slowly relaxing and his mouth parting slightly before his heavy lidded eyes steadily traveled back to her. His gaze moved so sluggishly Maka knew he had to be doing it unconsciously. Still, she thought her heart might go into cardiac arrest with how fast it was pounding, and she could feel her whole body flushing as his eyes made their slow assent over her subtle curves.

When he finally reached her face and their eyes met, a furious blush spread across his cheeks. "Oh, uh, well," he inhaled sharply through his nose, his whole body stiff with awkward embarrassment. "I'll just, uh, put these back then."

Maka watched, frozen in place as he pivoted on his heel and made abnormally long strides out of the kitchen. Numbly, not even really knowing why she was doing it, she called out to him. "Soul?" Instantly he stopped in his tracks, his face turned only slightly so she knew he was listening. She licked her lips nervously, "They're hang dry only."

She thought she saw him gulp, but couldn't be sure from such a distance. "Right. Hang dry. Got it." And then he was gone, disappearing around the corner in a flash of unruly silver.

Maka stood there, her heart slowly returning to a more normal rhythm and the heat of her skin gradually cooling. Her hands, which had never left their protective hold on the garbage can lid throughout the awkward exchange, moved to wash themselves in the kitchen sink and back to her cutting station before her brain could fully comprehend the movement. And as she slowly sunk the knife into potato flesh, all she could think about was if the single drop of blood that had escaped Soul's sniffling would stain his white shirt.

The next day she greeted her friends and fellow female students with a confident smile. Because fact was fact and one plus one always equaled two. Soul finding her lingerie plus Soul getting a nosebleed could only equal one thing. The solution to the equation made her giddy, because Soul - the one man who's opinion she held in the highest regard - thought she was attractive.

Turns out, that was the only answer she needed all along.

**(:)(A)(:)**

_This was a bit of a labor of love but I'm pretty satisfied with how it turned out. So I hope you enjoyed it as well! For real though, Liz is totally right on this one. Any time you're feeling less than pretty throw some sexy underwear on and you'll feel like a shiny new penny - without Abe Lincoln though, because that would be totally weird and gross._

_On another, totally random, note. The site has answered my prayers by getting rid of that stupid twitter bar thingie that ruined my format. Yay! Then they proceeded to start taking down anything they considered to be NC17._

_**Boo.**_

_Why is it so hard to put a freaking "I am over 18" button on the site? There are so many amazing stories that have a fantastic and well developed plots that just happen to have a lemon or two sprinkled in. Gah, it frustrates me beyond belief. To the point where I'll be searching for another fan site once this and my other story is completed. Authors shouldn't be afraid of having their stories taken down just because a site won't put the extra effort to put a freaking button in. Don't suppose anyone has started a petition? If so, sign me up._


	5. Pride

**(:)(A)(:)  
>Seven Sins<br>Chapter #5: Pride  
>(:)(A)(:)<strong>

If Maka was too greedy, then Soul knew he was guilty of being too proud. He didn't bother to deny it. While she continued to strive and struggle for more, he was in the habit of sitting back and watching her with the feeling that he already had it all.

They were the greatest meister weapon team in their class - maybe even the entire school by now. Maka would say they earned it through hard work and determination. Soul thinks they were just born for it, because when he looks back he knows they were pretty freaking awesome before all that training sharpened their skills. Their hard work just honed something they already had all along. He felt it the moment her tiny hand slipped into his, calloused and burning in his palm. Since that moment, and every moment after, he knew that they were special - that they were destined for greatness.

He of course never said a word about this to his partner for several reasons. The first being that he didn't want to risk sounding like Black Star. The second being that Maka would chop him into oblivion if he even hinted that their skill was handed to them instead of earned. Soul didn't try to understand her train of thought when it came to the whole earned versus given but knew enough to shut his mouth and not argue. The way he had always figured it was that some people just had to work harder at some things than others. His brother had been born with musical talent where as Soul had to struggle to learn the keys of his first piano. He knew deep down that it didn't matter that Wes was born a musical prodigy, because he could feel the weapon blood burning in his stomach telling him that he had his own power - his own birthright. Why would he want to be an acclaimed musician when he was born with a gift that would help save the world?

So yeah, he was proud of his natural born talent. How could he not be? But Maka saw it differently, and Soul suspected he knew the reason for it even if he didn't completely understand. Maka wanted to fight for her right to be called the best because making a Deathsythe better than her father would mean nothing if it was just given to them.

Soul could respect that. After all, extra training and hard work would only make them even more amazing than their talents already provided them. Why not go the full mile and get their names down in the history books like Maka wanted? Why not make sure that she was as proud of him as he was of her? Because there was nothing - _nothing_- that made him as proud as having her as his meister.

From day one she proved herself to him by taking his hand without the slightest bit of fear or apprehension when all the other meisters had fled from him. The first day of training she proved herself to her classmates that she was as tough (and tougher) than the majority of her mostly male competitors. She could take her punches and dish them back like it was as easy as breathing. He'll never forget the burst of pride he felt when she knocked Killik out cold during practice at the end of their first year. He suspects Killik won't forget it either.

She was nothing short of amazing, but Soul (while proud) had learned from a young age that one should at least _try_ to appear humble. He didn't go blasting off about how strong a weapon he was or how much more skilled his meister was compared to the rest of them. He didn't hide it (because lets face it trying to hide his ego was like trying to get Kid to shave half his head) but he made a point not to advertise it either. He carried it quietly, but not silently. It showed in the way he walked, in the way he talked. Hell, he knew for a fact it showed in the way he smirked. Study him, watch him, and it would be impossible not to see that with every slouch, every grin, every _movement_, he was bragging to the world.

Problem was someone, the most important someone, couldn't seem to see it. For all the books she tore through, Maka still couldn't seem to read _him_.

He tried not to make it blaringly obvious because, again, he didn't dare risk sounding like his best blue haired friend. And besides weren't chicks were suppose to be all about being subtle and reading between the lines and stuff? She should have gotten the message - especially since the entire school seemed to. The guys didn't ask him about the girls he'd want to date or the ladies he'd like to shag. Most of the girls (especially those in their class) didn't give him more than friendly smiles and the ones that did flirt did so casually without really expecting there to be any results from it. There were some bold ones - the ones that would slip partner requests into his locker with some naive hope that he might just say yes. He didn't feel even a shred of guilt throwing them all away unopened, even knowing that they were probably watching him do it from behind a corner. If they had watched him enough to figure out that he was a good partner then they should have also figured out that he was a _loyal _partner too. It kinda came hand in hand after all.

A greedy man wants everything, a proud man thinks he already has it all. Soul was a proud man because he knew, not just thought, he _knew_that he had everything he could ever want. People saw this, knew this from watching him (screw the ones that decided to ignore it). But Maka, his amazingly talented partner, was really amazingly clueless sometimes. So there he was, totally screwed because being the proud man that he was he could only love her more for her innocence.

He had it all - a kick ass job, the coolest group of friends a guy could ask for, and a meister that took his breath away at least on a daily basis. He didn't want anything else, and he sure as hell didn't want _**anyone**_ else. Some day Maka would figure that out. Maybe it will be his hundredth refusal of a partner request or maybe it will be her realizing that he never really spends any time with girls other than her, but she'll get it. He knows she will. After all, has he mentioned that _his_ meister was also the top of their class?

**(:)(A)(:)**

A little on the shorter side but anytime I tried to lengthen it I just felt . . . blah. We got just two more chapters to go! Next up will be Wrath, and then followed by Lust. Hope you enjoyed and thank you for the reviews!


	6. Wrath

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"_Men often make up in wrath what they want in reason."_

_-William R. Alger_

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><p><strong>(:)(A)(:)<strong>

**Seven Sins**

**Chapter 6: Wrath**

**(:)(A)(:)**

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><p>Maka's wrath wasn't to be taken lightly. Her friends knew that, her classmates knew that, anyone that knew anything at all about Maka Alburn <em>knew<em> that she had a mean temper. Shit, even her starry eyed father wouldn't deny that an angry Maka was a scary thing to behold.

Soul knew probably more than anyone, but he had the nasty habit of testing her limits and tip toeing lines that he should probably just leave the hell alone. But hey, it was his duty as her weapon to test her. Testing each other kept them thinking and, when in the heat of battle, _alive_. He had this fear that one of these days one of their opponents was going to taunt her (as they usually did) and get under her skin just enough for her to lose her cool. Anger was a funny thing, it could be both a blessing and a curse in the heat of battle. Sometimes the adrenaline rush was just what a fighter needed to get out of a situation alive. Other times … well, he tried not to think of it too much.

Regardless, Soul made it is mission in life to poke at his meister's buttons as thoroughly as possible. He learned quickly to respect the one and only rule of the Maka's Anger Management Program he had developed. It was ok to walk along and prod at those little invisible lines that Maka had drawn for herself but Death help you if you flat out stepped over them.

Going by the suffocating silence and completely closed off expression his meister wore when school let out, Soul guessed that he might have skipped over one of those lines. And by skipped, he mean _flew_. With a rocket. At something close to a million miles an hour. Best part? He had no bloody clue what line he crossed or when the hell it happened.

In fact, the only thing he really did know was that the bike ride home had been stiff and scarily silent. The spot where her hands usually settled in around his sides was cold from her lack of touch and he felt the loss like a sucker punch to the gut. She had opted to hold onto the bike instead of him. The freaking bike that she had never wanted him to buy in the first place. Nothing could have prepared him for how much that one simple act hurt.

There had never been a time when she was so furious with him – shit, he didn't think he had ever seen her this furious with _anyone_. She had never been angry enough to push him away.

Or slam a door in his face. Ouch.

"Shit! You hit my nose!" She didn't, but he figured it would at least get her to open the damn door. "I think you broke it!" Nothing but silence greeted him on the other side of the planed piece of wood. Fuck, he really was in deep if he didn't even get a reaction from her. Anxiety beginning to gnaw at his insides, he turned the door knob with every intent on fixing whatever the hell he broke.

It was locked.

Right, time to panic. Maka _never _locked him out. "Come on Maka! Open the door!" Still no answer. His hands were shaking, he wasn't sure if it was from fear or frustration but he buried them in his hair to hide it. "Damn it Maka! What's this even about?!"

The door swung open so violently he stumbled back a step, blinking as Maka's accusing finger appeared in front of his face. He wasn't sure if he should be relieved or worried by the angry flush she wore on her cheeks, but anything was better than the cold shoulder she had given him on the way home. He would always prefer being burned by her fire over the numbness that came with her icy dismissal.

"Don't you dare," she hissed through her teeth. Soul was horrified to see there were angry, stubborn tears clinging to the corners of her eyes. "You don't get to play stupid with this Soul!"

He grabbed the hand in front of his face, irritated when she snatched it back. "Damn it, I'm not 'playing' anything! I have no freaking clue what crawled up your skirt Maka, but if you want me to fix it then you gotta let me in on what the hell is pissing you off!"

Anger was still burning in her cheeks but the scorching rage diminished as she broke eye contact. "You should have told me," she whispered, a mixture of hot bitterness with a touch of betrayal that Soul suspects only he would have noticed.

Right. Because that explained _everything_. He waited patiently for her to elaborate but after a few tense seconds (that suspiciously felt like years taken off his life) he was ready to just shake the rest out of her. "Vague much?"

Her hands flew up in frustration and Soul would be lying if he said he didn't flinch. Smart ass comment like that, in _her_ mood – yeah, he was expecting to get it. "Your girlfriend Soul! You should have told me about your girlfriend!" Her hands fisted at her sides and she clenched her eyes shut so she wouldn't have to look at him. "I thought we were partners! Partners tell each other those kinds of things!"

Soul blinked, completely baffled. "Maka -"

She continued her tirade, feet slapping the carpet as she paced the small space behind her bedroom door. "I didn't even think you _liked_ anyone like that!"

Soul sighed, tilting his head back and pinching the bridge of his nose. "Maka -"

"I mean it's ok that you do! I just wish you -"

Death help him, she wasn't going to stop babbling. "**Maka**!" Her mouth (finally) clicked shut and Soul shook his head still utterly lost on how the hell any of this happened. "I'm not dating anyone." Her eyes sparked and Soul already knew he was going to be accused of lying. Frankly, that pissed him off. He gripped her shoulders before her rant could start. "Damn it, I'm not!" Fuck, why couldn't she just listen to him for once? "Have I _ever_ lied to you?" Never, he had never in their entire partnership lied to her.

She knew that.

Doubt began to soften the angry ridges in her eyes and suddenly she was nearly limp in his hands and her expression was beginning to match his own very lost one. Soul shook his head, releasing her shoulders and running his hands through his hair. "Fuck Maka, where the hell did this even come from?"

For a moment her mouth silently stuttered over words she didn't have until a rapid blush began spreading from the roots of her hair all the way down to her chest. "I – but – Liz …" She shook her head and hid her flaming cheeks with the palms of her hands, completely mortified. "Oh my – I'm going to kill her!" Still trying to hide the evidence of her embarrassment, her eyes were beginning to take on a dangerous glint that Soul was all too familiar with. She began to push past him with all the embarrassed fury of a woman made a fool but his hand caught her wrist before she could fully escape him.

"Whoah there. Hold up. _What_ exactly did Liz say to spur this on?" He shook his head, bewildered and irritated when the suborn blond refused to meet his eyes. "Maka …"

She fidgeted, the skin of her wrist turning hot underneath his fingers. "Liz … she, well – I didn't ask!" She blubbered, as if he even cared about that stupid detail. "But, she said that you were planning a date with someone-" she hesitated, almost pained as she seemed to force the next word out, "_special_."

Soul was beginning to feel the last shred of his patience slipping away. Liz had a nasty habit of gossiping and opening any and every can of worms she could lay her manicured hands on; but Soul couldn't ever imagine her flat out _lying_. Not to his meister. Not about this. _Especially_ not about this. She knew that he was head over heels in love with Maka. Why would she – oh. _**Oh.**_

Fuck, really?

He started laughing. It started as a soft chuckle but quickly evolved into a full out, lungs gasping for air, laugh. Beside him, the flush that had just started to dissipate was rapidly returning to Maka's cheeks. Going by the steely glint in those green eyes, it was safe to say that she was quickly becoming irritated with his behavior.

"It's not funny!" She snapped, pulling her wrist out of his weakening grasp. When his laughter only increased she shoved him away from her, stubborn tears clinging to the corners of her eyes. "You – you jerk!" She turned, no doubt to go hide in her room but Soul wouldn't have it. Again, he grasped her wrist but this time it wasn't only with the intent of stopping her.

He pulled her against him, her body colliding flush with his and he grinned down at her – his laughter subsiding. She opened her mouth, no doubt to yell at him, but he didn't give her the opportunity. With his hand snaking around the back of her neck, his lips crashed against hers. While it was relatively chaste - the simple pressing of flesh that still managed to have his body humming because Death he had waited so long to feel her - it wasn't anything like he imagined their first would be.

He had imagined that it would be at a restaurant downtown - that little italian place she had always told him she wanted to go to but never did because it was all candle light and romance. They would share dessert and maybe he would take her for a walk and just lean over her and dazzle her with suave pick up lines and kiss her in a rose garden under the moonlight and **boom. **Happily ever after. Because damn it he's never done this before and according to Liz that's how these things were suppose to go. Go figure that the one who insisted on all these romantic gestures would be the one to ruin it by opening her mouth.

But … it was ok. Because, _this_, in he hallway of their apartment, might not be romantic but it was them. It was him and Maka and at the end of the day that was all he ever really wanted.

Her body was stiff and awkward under his hands, but she wasn't pulling away. He could feel her eyelashes brush against his skin as her eyes fluttered closed, and when he cracked his eyes open he was was one part relieved and another part giddy to be greeted by her flushed cheeks. He wasn't sure how long they stood in that hallway, lips and bodies pressed together. He suspects that he wouldn't have been able to tell the difference between a minute or an hour even if someone paid him. It was as if there was a static humming between them, but instead of sparking at his touch it seemed to pull him in and keep him close.

It kept him warm.

It took more effort than it should have to pull away, but he had the irresistible need to see her - to study her face and to memorize every detail of this moment. With his lips hovering over hers, his hand slid from her wrist up to the other side of her neck. His thumbs traced over her cheeks and he marveled at the smoothness of her skin and the way it warmed his cool fingertips while he watched as her eyes fluttered open and revealed green colored irises that he had long admired but had never had the opportunity to study so close. He knew that her glossy gaze and lightly flushed cheeks probably mimicked his own dazed expression but, despite knowing that it was probably totally uncool, he couldn't bring himself to really care.

He rested his forehead on hers and was rewarded when his shaggy white bangs mixed with her fine blonde strands. "It's you Maka," he smiled down at her, "It's always been you."

For a moment she was silent, her eyes searching his with an intensity that would make any one else feel exposed. Then she smiled, cheeks flushing with delight and her eyes shining unnaturally bright in the dim hallway. Soul had never seen her look so beautiful.

His lips found hers again and when she responded back with equal, albeit shy enthusiasm, he held her closer and made no plans of ever letting go.

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><p><strong>AN:<strong> Well, it took me long enough but it's up! Only Lust remaining!

Thank for all the feedback!


	7. Lust

"_When I saw you, I saw love. When I saw you naked, I saw lust. When I saw you with my clone in a dream, I saw the future."_

_-Jarod Kintz, This Book is Not for Sale_

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><p><strong>(:)(A)(:)<strong>

**Seven Sins**

**Chapter #7: Lust**

**(:)(A)(:)**

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><p>It's dark in their living room. The only source of light comes from the digital clocks on the kitchen appliances and from the grinning moon outside their window. Still, it's enough for Soul to bask in his meister's expression as she perches herself on his lap. They're still fully clothed (her in her usual skirt and sweater and he in jeans and the rare button down shirt), but as her nimble fingers begin undoing his buttons one by one, top to bottom, he knows that particular problem will be quickly remedied.<p>

His hand ghosts down the curve of her waist and sends sparks across her soul, igniting and burning with a flame she had only recently become acquainted with. Shyly, she lets her fingertips run along his exposed chest and is both fascinated and proud of the pleased shiver that it produces. Those little touches, so feather light they're barely there, sear his skin and burn him in the most delicious ways possible. When she offers a timid kiss to corded muscle of his neck he feels as if those lips have burned past his skin and into his soul and marked him - branded him - for life. The thought only makes him hotter and he growls his approval into her shoulder before his mouth latches hungrily to that sensitive spot he had found just below her jaw.

He's obsessed with her neck, completely and unabashedly _obsessed,_ and he's not sure why but he suspects it might have something to do with the noises that sucking and biting at the tender flesh produces. That and he finds himself ridiculously pleased with the fact that there's no way, short of wearing a scarf in the desert, that Maka will be able to cover up the enormous hickey he's marking her with. His grin tickles at her throat before he gives her clavicle a playful nip. He is rewarded with her gasp and the shifting of her hips that results in his own pleasured hiss. The sounds she makes is like a symphony to his trained ears and he's determined to learn how to play her just right. Soon those little gasps and moans would turn into a crescendo because her nails are digging into his shoulders and her teeth have found his ear. She wants more. Maka always wants more. Which is ok because Soul plans to give her absolutely everything.

Her hands are quickly working to push his unbuttoned shirt off his shoulders because she's jealous of the cottons contact with his skin. He helps her because really, he'd take the feel of her hands - of her skin - over fabric any day. But when her fingers move to his belt he clasps her wrist and gives her a sinful smirk in response to the impatient, frustrated growl that springs from her lips. Languidly, he runs his calloused hand up her thigh, his fingers teasing the hem of her underwear. He risks her wrath, he knows, but despite the fire burning through his veins and in the pit of his lower stomach, he wants to slow down and memorize every little detail of her body before he lets her take him and before he completely devours her in return. One of these days he's going to convince her to have lazy sex but not tonight. Not when she had been teasing and testing his self control all day with ruffled skirts and shy glances.

Right now, he plans to slow things down to an idle crawl until she either begs him or kills him because, lets face it, both options were tantalizing enough to make his mouth water and jeans tighten uncomfortably. She is both the instrument and the composer, his fingers pluck and push at her keys but she decides the progression and the tone. He likes it that way. She is his meister and he is her weapon, and she had never steered him wrong.

They are each other's saviors, the light in the dark. But, even at their best, they are far from perfect. He knows that. She is quick to anger combined with the nasty habit of wanting too much and wishing she had what she didn't. He is lazy and admittedly too proud, with a colossal appetite for the things that he likes. But that's ok, because she is his world wrapped in the form of warm flesh and soft, scar riddled skin and nothing - **nothing** - could ever make his life more perfect, more content.

She is his scarred angel and he her weapon of light. Together they beat back the darkness and extinguish the things that go bump in the night. They risk their lives, their souls, to come to the worlds defense without the promise or expectation of compensation or salvation. Hell is at their doorstep, always there and always knocking, but Heaven is in each other's arms.

As long as they have this, have _together_, it's enough – if not for Heaven - then for them.

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><p><strong>AN:<strong> Well there you go folks. Hope you enjoyed. ;) It's short but I feel that it conveyed what I wanted it to. You may have noticed (I hope you noticed) that all the previous sins are alluded to in this chapter in an effort to help tie everything together. Please tell me what you think for this chapter if none of the others. We authors love feedback the way Soul loves souls.


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